


Hold Your Fire

by EvvieJo



Series: Groves & Shaw [6]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8140597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvvieJo/pseuds/EvvieJo
Summary: Shaw needs to confront what she dislikes most, and Zoe sends the first paying client to Root and Shaw's new business.





	

It was probably the first time Shaw caught herself tapping her fingers nervously on a table. Or on anything really. She showed up early to an overpriced coffee shop in Downtown Manhattan, gulped half of her usual Americano in one go, and waited. In the meantime, it seemed she developed anxiety.

Maybe the anxiety had been there before, muted as everything else she ever felt, and now it just bubbled to the surface, demanding attention by the silly tick of banging fingertips on the sticky wooden tabletop that someone had probably forgotten to clean in the last week or three months. After all, she’d been putting off this meeting for weeks now. She reasoned with herself that she was busy with Root being back, with new numbers coming in, with the new business they were starting, with re-adjusting to a semi-regular life. But she knew deep down it was all bull.

She simply didn’t want to have to say these words she was going to say, and to someone she genuinely liked. Before this, she wasn’t even sure she was capable of sympathy. She used to marvel at how difficult giving bad news to families was for all the other doctors in her intern program, right up to the moment when her superiors fired her for doing that with no distress.

Now, she supposed she knew what those people must have felt like, and she couldn’t imagine her own feelings to be muted. How could people even handle all these emotions on a daily basis?

“Shaw.”

A familiar voice jerked her out of her thoughts. Zoe Morgan was standing by the table, armed with a gigantic paper cup she must have just received at the counter. Sameen gestured for her to sit down.

“Have you been waiting long?,” Zoe asked sitting down and took a sip from her cup.

“I was early.” Shaw waved her hand dismissively. “How’s the- you know- fixing these days?”

Zoe raised an eyebrow.

“You honestly didn’t want to meet me to catch up.” She paused, watching Shaw turn her half-empty cup in her hands. “So what is it?”

“Kinda- catching up.” Shaw lifted her gaze back at her friend, but looked immediately away again. “It’s about John.”

There was a moment of silence between them. Shaw couldn’t make herself say anything more, but instinctively she knew she didn’t have to.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?,” Zoe said quietly. “Guess I was right not to plan a white picket fence, huh?”

“Yeah, he’d probably have used it to stab someone at some point.”

They exchanged a glance and smiled sadly.

“Touché.”

“Do you wanna know how-?” And there was the inability to say things again. As if saying or not saying them could change reality. So stupid.

“Knowing him, he was being a hero, saving someone.”

Sameen nodded.

“The world. Big damn idiot of a hero.”

“But we wouldn’t want him any other way.”

To that, Shaw answered with a snort. However great a void John had left, there was no denying his hero complex made up a lot of who he was. It was impossible to imagine what he could have been without it.

“So, what have you been up to? Still working with Harold?,” Zoe asked, blinking in a clear attempt to fight away tears.

“Harold’s gone- He’s in Paris,” Shaw hastened to clarify. “Retired. But other than that, not much’s changed. Saving people, beating up bad guys, same old.”

“On your own? If you need help, I could send some trusted guys your way.”

Shaw shook her head and smiled.

“Thanks, but I got that-” She paused, noticing a tall figure of a woman making a graceful bee-line between the tables, carrying a large drink that Shaw could easily identify as an iced vanilla latte, no whip. “-covered. Remember there was this psycho that once kidnapped Harold?”

“Root, I remember. She worked with you later, didn’t she?”

By then, Root had made her way to their table and stopped directly behind Zoe.

“Yup,” Shaw said, casting a glare up at her. “Also, she’s behind you.”

Root waved her hand, sipping her drink, and sat in the last free chair at their table.

“So it’s the two of you working together now? Beating up bad guys and all?,” Zoe asked.

“Beating up bad guys and so much more,” Root said with a wide grin.

Shaw gave her an exasperated look and sighed.

“Yeah, so, we’re also kinda dating.”

“Kinda, Sameen?” Root leaned in towards Zoe, who was trying not to look amused. “She has commitment issues.”

“Does she?,” Zoe asked with fake surprise. “Wouldn’t have guessed.”

There was a change in Root’s facial expression then that Shaw immediately knew had nothing to do with the conversation they were having. Root’s eyes, even though still technically looking at Zoe, lost focus. She put her iced coffee down on the table, jangling the ice cubes on the plastic walls of the cup, and reached into her pocket.

“When your client asks you, recommend us,” she said, placing a business card in front of Zoe. “Shaw, we gotta go.”

And without further explanation, she got up, grabbed her drink with one hand and Shaw’s elbow with the other, and dragged her towards the door.

 

Root offered no explanation to Shaw until they were back at the subway and she had pulled up all the information they were going to need regarding their new number. His name was Dixon Winther, and he was a New York state senator, in office for the last five terms. In his fifties, he was apparently happily married to a real estate broker  named Sandra, with whom he had had two children. The only thing that made his story stand out was the fact that his son was shot and killed in a drive-by shooting when he was eleven. This seemed to have pushed Winther to passionately support gun control laws, which surely must have garnered the senator numerous enemies.

“So what’d you think?,” Shaw asked, eyeing the photograph of the graying man that was looking back at them from the computer screen. “Vic or perp?”

“Victim.” Root seemed convinced. “But, more importantly, client.”

She had barely finished speaking, when steps rang out in the hallway and the door to their office opened, revealing the senator in the flesh. The man looked tired and stressed out, with deep purple circles under his eyes. Root promptly closed the files they’d just been looking at.

“Hi, how can we help you, sir?,” she said, standing up and gesturing towards the chair on the other side of her desk.

“It seems I might be in need of some assistance,” Winther said, casting uncertain glances around the office. Whether it was that the place didn’t inspire confidence in him, or the fact that all he found were two women and a dog, it was difficult to tell. “I was directed to you by Zoe Morgan. I believe you know her.”

Shaw felt an urge to roll her eyes at Root’s impeccable foresight, but instead she smiled.

“Yes, of course. What seems to be the problem?”

She could tell Root was looking at her with pride and she kicked her in the shin under the table. Root somehow managed to keep a straight face.

“Well, I have been receiving threatening e-mails,” Winther said. He clasped his hands together in front of him to keep them from shaking. “At first it was every now and then, from different accounts, but recently- it’s escalated.”

“Escalated how?,” Shaw asked.

The senator untwined his fingers and reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, revealing a few sheets of paper folded together, and passed them to her.

“They’ve been getting more frequent, and much more- personal.”

The pages contained the text of several e-mails, all of which were dated as no older than three weeks. All of them contained threats directed at the senator’s daughter, if the senator didn’t withdraw his support of further amendments to the gun control laws in the state of New York. Shaw handed the papers to Root, although she was convinced there was no information in them that would be new to her.

“Lucy? Is that your daughter?,” asked Sameen, pretending not to know the name, exact age and occupation of his only surviving child.

Winther nodded.

“She’s a student at Columbia. She has nothing to do with my job, she shouldn’t be involved in this.” His hands began shaking again, so he put them together again. “If they were just threatening me, I wouldn’t even bother, but- You see, my son was killed when he was just a little boy, and I’m not going to let anyone hurt my daughter. And they want me to turn my back on an issue that is- has always been vital to me. So what I want you to do, is find the bastard who’s threatening my daughter. Miss Morgan said that if anyone could help me, it’d be you.”

Root and Shaw exchanged a look; of course, Zoe knew their efficiency well enough to say that. And neither of them could deny that there was probably no one better cut out for the job.

“I guarantee you, she was right,” Root said with a smile. “We’ll track down whoever’s been sending the e-mails.”

“But that’s part of the problem,” said Winther. “I’ve had people track them, and they all failed. They said that it was impossible to find the person who sent them.”

“It may have been impossible for them,” Root said dubiously, and started typing quickly on her laptop keyboard. “For me, it might just turn out time-consuming.”

Shaw couldn’t suppress a half-smile.

“She’s really good at this kinda thing.”

“I was hoping you’d say something like that,” the senator said. “Are you sure this is just a matter of time, Miss…?”

Root stopped typing for a moment and waved her hand.

“You can just call me Root.”

“That’s an odd first name.”

“It’s more of a- nickname, but everyone calls me that,” she said.

“Okay then. So you’re going to find them?”

She gave him a reassuring smile.

“Absolutely.”

It looked like a burden lifted off of Dixon Winther’s shoulders, and when he handed them his business card and shook their hands, his own weren’t trembling anymore.

“I’ll let you know as soon as we find out anything,” Root told him.

“I’ll be waiting for news, then.”

He bid them goodbye and left the office. Root went back to typing as soon as the door closed.

“Not everyone calls you that,” Shaw said, making her way to the armory. “Fusco doesn’t.”

“Because Lionel has a pet name for me, that’s different, Sameen.”

Shaw snorted.

“His pet name for you is supposed to be an insult, Root.”

“He doesn’t mean it like that.” Root looked up from the computer screen for a moment. “Do you know where you’re going?”

Even though neither of them had said it out loud, the assignment of tasks was obvious enough for them. Root was doing her hacker thing, and Shaw’s job was to keep an eye on Lucy Winther while the blackmailer remained unidentified.

“I’m guessing you’re gonna tell me right now, but wherever that is, I’m probably gonna need a gun.”

“You’re almost as good at this as me,” Root crooned, and scribbled something on a piece of paper.

“Except I don’t need an all-seeing AI in my ear for that.”

Root made a face and walked up to her, handing her the note.

“Corner of Amsterdam and West 120th. Don’t dawdle.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, shoving the piece of paper into her pocket. She was about to make her way to the door when Root grabbed her by the lapels of her blazer and kissed her on the mouth. It was a short, soft kind of kiss, the kind that said, _I wish you weren’t going, but at least think of me while you’re gone_.

It lasted just a few seconds before Root let her go, and Sameen cast a bewildered glance at her. Root acted like she didn’t notice, and returned to her desk.

“See you later, Sam!”

 

Shaw found Lucy Winther right where Root directed her: in a pizza place next to Columbia. The girl was accompanied by three friends, and none of them paid any attention to Shaw who took a table opposite them and bluejacked Lucy’s phone.

There was no activity on the device that would be alarming in any way. She was an avid instagrammer, she frequently texted her friends, and the majority of her phone’s memory was taken up by music. Nothing in her messages or e-mails was threatening. Maybe the senator’s daughter wasn’t in any real danger after all.

Maybe his number came up for a completely different reason.

“Root, please tell me you got something,” Shaw muttered after half an hour of eavesdropping the idle gossip of four college students. Her only comfort was the delicious pepperoni she felt obligated to order to avoid looking suspicious.

“Patience, Sameen,” Root chirped in her ear-piece. “Whoever these guys are, they know what they are doing. They used some sophisticated encryption to hide themselves. She’s working on it now.”

“So you’re chilling at the subway, while I’m on babysitting duty? How is that fair?,” Shaw snorted.

“Judging by what I’m hearing you’re not suffering too much, unless that pizza is being shoved down your throat with main force. Anyway, I’m going to run facial recognition on the pictures from Lucy’s phone, just in case.”

“Yeah, whatever. FYI, there’s nothing suspicious going on here. Not even health code violations.”

“Enjoy your pizza, Sameen,” Root said and ended their conversation.

Shaw rolled her eyes, hoping Root would instinctively know that she did. It did seem more and more like they didn’t need to talk to communicate with each other, and even though it was useful, she found it the tiniest bit scary.

Maybe Root was right when she told Zoe that she had commitment issues. Shaw herself wasn’t quite sure if that was the best way to name her unwillingness to be in a relationship. She had always found it difficult to get involved with anyone because everybody had all those feelings, emotions she couldn’t quite comprehend or reciprocate. Ultimately, whenever she enjoyed being with someone, they wanted too much, expected things she simply was incapable of, or figured she was a freak.

And then there was Root. Root who felt exponentially more than Shaw ever did, probably more than most of humanity. Root who wouldn’t stop bothering her, but also who didn’t run away when Shaw just couldn’t give her more. Root who understood.

For a very long time, Shaw pushed back all the thoughts about the two of them together. She didn’t dare think about it being serious; she wasn’t the relationship kind, they were lethal as it was, no need to complicate things, having sex to pass the time was enough, it wasn’t as messy as a full-blown relationship would be. All that got ruined when Samaritan spent months torturing her, pulling things to the surface and unwittingly making her confront them. Over seven thousand times she heard Root say they belonged together, and with each time, it felt truer and truer.

Ironically, the thing that kept tearing them apart, brought them together.

And now, there was this tiny spark somewhere in the center of Shaw’s chest, buried deep down and unrecognizable, that she was beginning to think was happiness. It wasn’t an overpowering emotion, it was hardly an emotion at all, it was just a faint warmth it seemed she could discern at the thought of Root, of waking up next to her, of taking Bear for walks together, of those little gestures that Root made that were cheesy and romantic, and sort of endearing. Of that kiss right before she left the subway that afternoon.

And in the middle of her boring stakeout, chewing an overpriced pizza, she found herself smiling.

 

The subway was quiet, almost empty without Shaw. There was the steady hum of computers as the Machine worked Her way through the encryptions and facial recognition, and the odd squeaks of the toy Bear was gnawing on. Root was bored; she did all the things she could do manually, but that only took her a little while. She wished she could have gone out with Shaw, her instructions, though, were to stay where she was. Open system or not, the Machine always had Her whims.

So Root went through everything they had again. The e-mails the senator gave them were specific enough to know what to fear, but vague enough to conceal any possible hints as to the author’s identity. The recurring line was that _your daughter will end up like your son_ , which she found interesting. No one and nothing else was ever threatened. Maybe there was something about Lucy that made her a target, other than her father’s political stances.

Except, there was nothing extraordinary about her. Root examined her digital footprint, only to find an overflowing Instagram account and a lot of other, painfully detailed, social media. As could be expected from any other twenty-year-old in the developed world. She had friends and apparently a boyfriend, but none of them stood out right away.

Root sighed and was ready to give up her search, when the facial recognition software found a match to a few of the photos from Lucy’s cell phone.

The match was a young man, approximately Lucy’s age, with closely cropped mousy brown hair, who Root had assumed was her boyfriend.

Without a second’s delay, Root opened a comms line to Shaw.

“You haven’t seen her boyfriend around by any chance?,” she asked.

“No. Who’s he?”

Root sent his mugshot to Shaw’s phone.

“Michael Vogel. He’s been detained by NYPD on a couple of occasions at illegal demonstrations.”

“Don’t tell me, he protested further limitations to the state gun laws,” Shaw guessed.

“Bingo. He’s a far-right activist, and by day he works the grill at a burger place in Queens.

“How poetic. You want me to pick him up?”

“No,” said Root. “She wants me to deal with him for now. She’s still making sure if the e-mails originated with him.” The laptop in front of her pinged as an IP and a street address popped up on the screen. “Perfect timing. It’s him. The e-mails originated at the place his activist group uses as an office. They’re called Keeping America Protected.”

Shaw snorted.

“As much as I’d shoot anybody who’d touch my guns, these people are idiots.”

“But it seems they are also willing to shoot if someone would try prying their guns out of their hands.” Root walked up to the armory to get her own pistol. “I’m gonna see if anyone else could be our blackmailer. You stay put on Lucy.”

“She’s on the move,” Shaw replied.

“Happy tailing,” Root said, smiling the way she would if they were talking face to face.

She patted Bear on the head and locked the office door behind her, walking out into the bustling Chinatown street.

 

Lucy Winther said goodbye to her friends outside the restaurant and made her way to Morningside Park. For someone whose life had been threatened she seemed entirely at ease. She went into the park in the gathering darkness without casting a glance around. At least that made Shaw’s job extremely easy.

They crossed the park, Sameen following several meters behind Lucy, and as they were reaching the street on the other side, a figure became visible in front of them.

“Here comes Romeo,” Shaw muttered into her comms line to Root. By then, Lucy jogged up to him and put her arms around his neck, kissing him. “Ugh, do I have to watch the bodily fluid exchange?”

“Stay on mission, Sameen,” Root said in a sing-song voice on the other end of the line. “I’m on my way to the gun enthusiasts’ office, so let me know if they separate.”

“They better do that right now or that pizza won’t stay down long.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Shaw said, rolling her eyes. The couple broke apart, and with arms wrapped around each other, they started down the street. “They’re moving. And where are you, anyway?”

“On my way to the Bronx to check out that office.”

“Okay, and what do I do if these two split up? Is the Machine gonna let you know if the guy’s about to walk in on you playing burglar at his place?”

Shaw could picture the expression that Root had to be wearing. It was annoying, this whole almost telepathic thing.

“Don’t worry, Sam, I got it covered.”

At that, the call ended. Lucy and her boyfriend were now walking slowly down Morningside Avenue, chatting and laughing like any carefree young couple in love. It was hard to imagine that the guy was threatening the girl’s life for political reasons. They looked so painfully normal, it made Shaw cringe.

 

The office barely even deserved that name. It was a dank little space in the basement of an old building, crammed with grabby furniture and lamely decorated with a large Confederate flag on one of the walls. The only computer was an old laptop, standing next to a wireless router which was hooked up to a bunch of cables dragged from upstairs. Root had her suspicions that Michael Vogel never paid a dime for his internet connection.

A password protected  the laptop from unauthorized use, though for Root it was no more than half a minute’s worth of work to get onto the computer. Within another minute she found a list members of Vogel’s gun-friendly organization, which turned out to be surprisingly short. There were five names in total, and a quick search of the four that hadn’t been checked earlier revealed that they hadn’t attended any demonstrations or been involved in any other activities within the last six months.

Root raised an eyebrow and looked around the room. Apart from the questionable décor choices and the computer, there were traces of recent human presence everywhere: dirty coffee mugs and emptied takeout Chinese boxes, a crumpled blanket on the threadbare couch. The hand towel in the tiny bathroom was damp, and someone had left their toothbrush on the sink. It seemed despite the lack of co-operation from his fellow members, Vogel still spent quite some time running Keeping America Protected.

Or sending threatening e-mails to a New York State senator.

She was just about to have a closer look at the insides of all the cabinets in the office, when her comms line went online.

“Hey, where exactly in the Bronx are you?,” Shaw asked. “’Cause we just got off the D train at Tremont.”

“Three blocks west of you it would seem.”

“Make it two and a half. And get your ass outta there.”

“Nice to know you care, Shaw,” Root said, “but I’m pretty sure I should stay.”

“Whatever. But I’m not patching you up if you get shot.”

“I won’t.”

Root took a step towards a large metal cabinet whose contents she was guessing were items out of Vogel’s personal collection of firearms. She grinned to herself.

“Hello there.”

And swiftly, she emptied the bullets out of the five handguns, two assault rifles and one machine gun she found. She was just closing the cabinet door when the Machine let her know Vogel and Lucy were about to enter.

“Showtime,” she said to herself with a smile.

She folded her arms over her chest and leaned on the wall. Outside, Michael Vogel was telling his girlfriend how he was sure he had locked the door when he was leaving.

“I don’t want anyone creeping around my stuff,” he said, pushing the door open, and stopped dead.

Root waved and pointed to the Confederate flag above her.

“Nice touch. Especially if you wanna scream _gun-toting white supremacist_ or something,” she said.

“What the fuck are you doing here? This is private property,” he said calmly, despite a vein in his forehead pulsating like crazy.

“Of course, although not your property, since you sublet it from the owner who lives upstairs and whose internet you’ve been stealing.”

Lucy was standing in the doorway, unsure what to do for a moment, before walking in and clinging to her boyfriend protectively.

“Get out or we’ll call the cops,” she said, looking stubbornly at Root. “Also we’re armed.”

Root smiled at her condescendingly. Behind Lucy and Michael, Shaw appeared in the doorway with her gun drawn.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else. I just need to ask Michael something.” Root paused, and watched as he unglued himself from Lucy and opened the gun cabinet. As soon as he grabbed a 9-millimeter handgun, he realized it was oddly light and he looked up in horror at Root. “Did you honestly think no one could trace the e-mails back to you?”

He clenched his jaws and his fists, trying to contain his anger, although it seemed self-control wasn’t his strong suit.

“What are you talking about?,” he asked.

“You know, the threats you’ve been sending to Senator Winther,” Shaw said from the doorway, shrugging.

Vogel pointed his gun at her instinctively; Shaw seemed completely unfazed, in contrast to Lucy, whose face was blanching rapidly.

“It’s none of your business,” he said through his teeth.

“Pretty sure it is, since he hired us,” Shaw said and casually directed her gun at Lucy. Both she and Vogel screamed. Root was watching without a word. “So what’s it gonna be?”

“Stop pointing at her!,” Michael yelled, powerless with his empty gun.

“I thought you liked guns,” said Sameen with a shrug. “Also, threatening the senator’s daughter, who you happen to be dating, for political gain? Really? Did you seriously think that would work?”

Lucy sobbed loudly, eyeing the barrel of Shaw’s gun.

“It was my idea, leave him out of it!”

That made Root’s head jerk up, and she pushed herself off the wall.

“It wasn’t about politics,” she said, walking up to the girl.

“Leave her alone!,” Vogel shouted, and was ignored.

“No!,” Lucy blubbered. “He’s just such a jerk, all he talks about are the guns laws, and my brother, and politics, and he doesn’t give a crap about me, I just wanted him to care about me for once!”

Shaw rolled her eyes and put down her gun.

“So you got your boyfriend to threaten your life,” Root finished.

None of them noticed there was another addition to the party until that moment.

“What?”

The faint question sounded in the doorway and everyone’s heads turned that way to see the senator in person, looking even more exhausted than earlier at the subway.

“Senator, we’re handling this,” Root said. “And by the way, how did you get here?”

“I had someone in my office track Lucy’s cell phone. She didn’t come home when she said she would.”

“And you didn’t think we were keeping an eye on her?,” Shaw asked.

“I wanted to make sure- I-” He paused. “I didn’t know what to think. What if something had-”

His voice broke. Lucy stopped crying and gaped at her father in astonishment.

“Daddy? It’s okay, I’m safe, no one wanted to hurt me.”

She took an uncertain step towards him, then another, until he reacted and closed the distance to hug her. They stood in an awkward embrace for a long moment. Michael was staring at them with a mixture of surprise and revulsion. Root and Shaw exchanged a glance; they didn’t have to say anything, but knew they were both thinking that at least they were getting paid this time for their part in this little family drama.

And then, with no warning, their silent conversation was cut short by the senator yanking Shaw’s gun out of her hand and pointing it at Vogel.

“This is all because of you!,” Winther said, putting his finger on the trigger.

“Senator-,” Root started, but he took no notice of her.

“If she’d never met you, she wouldn’t have even thought about anything like this,” he kept talking. “This isn’t who I raised my daughter to be.”

“That’s because you _didn’t_ raise me,” Lucy said quietly behind him, causing him to startle and turn back to her, dumbfounded. “You were never around, you’re still never around. And even when you are, all you talk about is Tim.” Her voice got louder, bitter and slightly shaky. “I am sick and tired of hearing about my brother! And of how he died, how it was the greatest tragedy of your life, how people shouldn’t have guns. God, you’re such a hypocrite, Dad. You have guns at the house, you go hunting every year! I wanted to see if you were going to be as big a hypocrite when it came to your children. And it did take you awfully long to do something about it.”

Without a word, Winther let his hand drop to his side and took his finger off the trigger. Shaw ducked to remove the gun from his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Winther mumbled. His eyes were glued to the floor in embarrassment.

“I guess we’re done here,” Root said with a wide grin, as she made her way to the door. “We’ll mail you the bill.”

 

“It feels good getting paid for saving people’s asses,” Shaw said, putting down her freshly emptied glass of tequila.

She, Root and Zoe were sitting in a bar downtown, catching up on their client’s case.

“It’s not too bad in my experience,” Zoe said. “So, the daughter was never in any real danger, huh?”

“The only person that was threatened with lead poisoning was her boyfriend,” Sameen said. “And that would’ve been courtesy of our dear senator.”

“He was always ready to hurt whoever threatened his daughter,” Root added, and took a sip of her cocktail. Whatever it was, it looked like it contained no alcohol at all. But she clearly enjoyed it and kept twirling the little paper umbrella between her fingers. “That’s why we- knew he’d need our assistance.

Zoe eyed her for a moment suspiciously.

“One day you’ll have to tell me how you know these things.”

“But,” Shaw countered, “first I wanna know what exactly it was that Winther needed you for.”

She gestured to the bartender to get her another shot of tequila and turned her full attention to Zoe.

“Oh, just his little fetish,” she replied with a mischievous smile. “Because as much as he opposed gun laws, he is a great fan of being smacked around by a woman. One dominatrix wanted to milk him for some money in exchange for keeping her mouth shut about it. I made sure she had nothing to back up her words.”

Shaw nodded pensively.

“I figured it would be something like that. I hate politicians.”

“Well, anyway,” Zoe said. “You saved everyone’s asses. Let’s drink to that.”

“And to our first paying client.” Shaw lifted her glass, and the others followed suit.

They downed their drinks and fell silent for a long moment. Their thoughts turned in the same direction; to the person they all held dear and who was never coming back. Shaw signaled the bartender to pour them a round of tequila, and then distributed the glasses.

“To Reese.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll try to cook up some more stories, but with work and other stuff, I can't make any guarantees as to when I'll manage to write them. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!


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